


Turbulence

by arlesanna



Category: The Fall (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Merry x-mas to Jonezy and all), you're the OFC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:11:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlesanna/pseuds/arlesanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by "Chase you down". The concept is the same - Stella and "You"! You're the OFC.<br/>The mature rating is mostly due to profuse swearing ("You" swear a lot in this, sorry)</p><p>You work as a journalist in Belfast Chronicle. How will you handle the aftermath of Ned's first printed article, especially since it's you who's supposed to be covering this story? </p><p>Oh, and you're also bisexual and a bit promiscuous. And you own a Jaguar. And you get to sleep with Stella.<br/>Lucky you. *sigh*<br/>=D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jonezy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonezy/gifts).



> Hi all! Unlike Jonezy I am incapable of writing in big chunks, but I will try to update quickly! (both this story and Distraction)
> 
> I really loved "Chase you down" - and I was inspired to write this both as a tribute and as my take on Jonezy's idea of "you" as the OFC. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this!) I certainly have a lot of fun writing this. Sorry this is not beta-ed - I don't write much and I don't  
> have one yet... Also english is not my native language, so I apologise in advance for any mistakes. Thanks!
> 
> A.

 

                                

 

**1\. Intro**

You hate Ned Callan. You fucking hate the fucking fucker. He screwed this up for you even before it started. 

“Are you fucking out of your mind?”

You throw the morning paper on his desk only to be rewarded with his smug face looking up at you.

“Like it, ha?”

Fucking. Fucker.

“You asshole you know I have an interview with her today for what is supposed to be **my** story?” You’re positively fuming. This war between you two has been going on for a couple of years now but it never gets old.

“First come first served, darling” he says and pretends to go back to his work as you retort devilishly:

“That didn’t seem to work for you with… What was her name again? Alice? Oh and the red haired one as well. Laura, was it?”

This is a bit below the belt, but you’ve been waiting for the moment to throw shagging two of the women he was lusting after in his face and the moment was now. The fucking fucker deserved it.

“Yeah well…” He motions at the article - “Consider it a payback. Good luck with your interview - look, maybe you can screw your way out of this one since you seem so good at that.”

“We’ll see. And don't forget who was named best journalist of 2011 - think I screwed my way to that one as well?” you sneer at him, grab your bad and leave the office, your high heels clicking angrily. You can see a couple of your colleagues smile at you secretly and you wink at them. At least now they will have something to discuss all day.

You walk up to your car and smile at the sight of it. You just washed it this morning and your dark violet, almost black Jaguar is looking as hot as ever.

“Hey, Jarvis!” You greet the car quietly. It might be a bit geeky  that you have your car named after Iron Man cyber butler, but your car is in fact your right hand and no other name suits him better. He is expensive as fuck, but you’ve earned the money with years of hard work as a journalist, writer, blogger and what not. And he’s worth every penny. You start the engine and the car greets you with an animalistic purr. You turn on the music - your iPod immediately goes for the Black Keys.

_I'm a lonely boy_

_I'm a lonely boy_

_Oh, oh-oh I got a love that keeps me waiting_

Time to get things done.

 


	2. First things first

**2\. First things first.**

You enter the Belfast police station confidently - you know your way around this place  - you check in with an officer at the entrance and head straight for the meeting room. The whole station must be already outraged by Ned’s morning article, no need to annoy them even more with another journalist sneaking about.

You wait for about 15 minutes, before you hear footsteps outside - a pair of high heels and a pair of flats. Then the infamous Stella Gibson enters, accompanied by Dani. Of course it has to be Dani - you curse inwardly as you see the red-haired girl freeze as she recognises you.

“Good morning, M’am” You greet Stella first, as you should as she is the superior in the room and you both introduce yourself and only then you extend the welcome to the accompanying police officer.  “Hi, Dani” you use your warmest tone, but she still looks tense as hell.

“Um. Hi.” She says and her strained look doesn't escape you or Stella. You can see her gaze between you two with interest as Dani excuses herself awkwardly and leaves the room. 

Only then you are able to really look at Stella. Petite, elegant, sexy as hell. You don’t really go for blonds but there’s just something about her that’s captivating. Maybe it has to do with those piercing blue eyes or those full exquisitely shaped lips. You even develop a appreciation for her nose that looks like it’s been hewn from marble. The woman is a vision. And right now that vision is wearing an amused expression on her face and you find yourself liking that look on her. 

“I see you’ve met my PC before” She utters and you feel a rush of adrenaline run through your veins - that voice is doing wonders to you and you know you want her. You’re used to getting what you want to you narrow your eyes at her teasingly and answer in a low, sultry voice: 

“Yes. It was a very pleasurable, but brief encounter” 

Her eyes widen at how brazen you’re being and you know it’s on. But that’s not what you’re here for. At least it wasn’t before so you know you need to put business first. Before she can answer, you continue, your voice different now - detached, colder, the tone you call business casual. 

“I feel I should apologise for the article our paper printed this morning. I represent the paper so please accept my sincere apology for that on behalf of Belfast Chronicle” 

“I will consider it.” She obviously doesn’t trust you and you’re not always the best judge of character, but she looks like someone who doesn’t appreciate to be played games with. So you decide that for this to work you’d need to lay your cards on the table - no bullshit. You speak slowly, punctuating every word to get the message across as clearly as possible: 

“However, I can’t promise that it won’t happen again. It is a result of my colleague’s desire to get ahead and my editor’s desire to print the Hot stuff. I hope we can move past this to achieve mutual understanding on the fact that as long as we work together on this and get the hot stuff to my editor fast enough, we can then control what comes out in print and the way it’s presented.”

There’s a silence in the room for several seconds as you wait for her decision that will determine the way this whole thing is going to be handled. Are you going to work hand-in-hand on this or will it be your job to gather crumbs of information from all the possible sources and then compile a story mostly out of gossip? You certainly hope for the former. 

“I think I could work with that.” You admire the way she tends to linger on words. It is extremely sensual. “I think that in this… particular situation… the help of media could be quite useful. We are dealing with a kind of individual who will be tracing every reference in the papers, every story, every mention of his crimes. We could use that to our advantage.” 

“I agree” You are happy you seem to be on the same page, but at the same time the journalist in you latches onto the information she just leaked: “Are you saying you’re thinking serial killer? Hasn’t there only been one murder?” 

She ignores your question as she goes on. 

“But. I have a few conditions for you.” 

“Me too” you see the surprise register on her face as she answers. 

“You go first then.” Going first means being in a weaker position but you don’t mind - you don’t deceive yourself into thinking you’re even players on this field. She has the upper hand and you need to show her you understand that. So you go first. 

“I only have three. One - you need to trust me with the whole picture. That way I will be able to present the information the way we need to and I won’t be mislead in any way to jump to fallacious conclusions which will inevitably happen if you omit or distort the facts. This partnership will not work if one of us on kept in the dark.  Two - you need to trust me to be on your side - I am not going to write up dirt, I am not going to publish stuff that will undermine the investigation and I am not going to try and twist the facts to show you or the police in a bad light. However - Three - there’s a line between presenting the facts in a certain way and outright lying. I am not going to lie on your behalf - if you or your people fuck up irreversibly, or if some nasty details are uncovered, I will let the world know. I am a journalist, not your PR agent.”

“I see you have quite a backbone.” Amusement is playing in her eyes again, mirroring your own. This meeting is becoming quite interesting for both of you and you give her a small smile to show that you’re enjoying this as much as she does.

“I have some experience and I prefer to set the rules early on. So that there’s no room for misunderstanding. What are your rules?” You certainly hope she gets the underlying message too, and the glint in her eyes proves she's as shrewd as you hoped she'd be. This is going to be very exiting.

“I have three as well. The first - you have to trust me to know what I’m doing and try to understand my actions instead of questioning them. If unsure - ask. The second - don’t ever lie to me. If you’re doubting something - ask. If you’re being pressured into something - tell me. If you think something is wrong - tell me. Feel you’re in danger - also let me know. This partnership will not work if one of us on kept in the dark.” You smirk as she throws your own line back at you. “And third - run everything you are going to publish by me. I understand that there will be some things you will feel like you have to publish or will be pressured into publishing by your editor, but I’d rather know exactly what’s coming my way.”

“I think I could work with that” you make a point to use her line from earlier as well and judging by the way she’s looking at you that doesn't go unnoticed.

“We have an agreement then.” She nods and you see her glance at her phone to check the time. “Right now I have a staff meeting - how about we start our work later today? Join me for dinner at my hotel and we can discuss the material for your first story.”

“My first story is due by tomorrow morning for print.” The dinner invitation is flattering, but you’d rather get something now. Also, you were kind of hoping for a different kind of plans with her for the evening.

“You’ll manage”

This woman is deliciously evil.

“I guess don’t have a choice then, do I?”


	3. Old friends are never too old.

**3\. Old friends are never too old.**

 

As you leave the room you decide to call on Eastwood - you used to work quite closely on one of the case and became very good friends - you even got extremely drunk one night. All that called for a friendly visit (and some insider tips wouldn’t hurt).

You see that he is busy with something as you knock on the door of his office - he lifts his head in annoyance, but his face lights up in a smile when he sees you.

“Well well well! Isn’t it the best journalist of 2011! Congratulations are in order I guess?” He stands up and envelops you in a friendly hug.

“Thank you thank you!” You laugh as you sit down on a visitors chair. “And you? Detective Chief Inspector, when are you taking over this place?”

“Not for a while, but you know how I am with titles.” He smirks and you remember his long-standing feud with his boss.

“You and Jim still on the rocks?”

“Always. You still prefer whiskey on the rocks?”

“Always” You both laugh at this friendly exchange.

“Last time I had to call your boyfriend to drive you home you were so wasted!”

“Hey! We were celebrating, remember?”

“Not really with all that booze.” Eastwood admits and you both laugh out again. “How’s the boyfriend by the way? He seemed nice.”

“Didn’t work out. You know me - I’m not really the relationship material.”

“Oh come on. We both know you’re a hopeless romantic at heart.” he mocks you, but his eyes are serious for a moment - sometimes it’s hard to say if Matt Eastwood is  joking not.

“Well I might be but he didn’t think so when it turned out I fucked more women then he did. And then the usual - jealousy, fighting, blaming each other… I decided it was time to go back to my usual ways. You know - the fuck whoever you want kind of thing.”

“You swear a lot don’t you?” He seems to ignore the rest of the information on purpose.

“Well maybe it’s the police atmosphere that’s doing it for me - the handcuffs all around and stuff” You state insolently, making Eastwood chuckle one again.

“I missed this you know.” He says with a familiar warmth in his voice.

“Me too.” Suddenly you go back to the moment you two met: It was a couple of years ago - you were just starting out in Belfast Chronicle and they sent you to work with Matt Eastwood on a series of thefts. You smile at the memory and decide to share:

“You know what I remember - when they sent me in here, they were all like "Matt Eastwood is the worst!”

“True. I hate journalists.” He all but winks at you. “Care for some tea?”

“No, thank you,I have to go soon. You didn’t hate me though.”

“Oh I did. At first.” He admits. “But then you grew on me.”

“Same here.” You grin sincerely. “I’m going to be working with that superintendent from Met.”

“A-ha.” He doesn’t really react to that so you go for a more direct question:

“Hello, earth to Eastwood. That was an indirect way of asking if you know anything about her that I should know.”

“Honestly, I’m so busy I haven’t really had time to meet the famous Stella. But the talk is that apparently she unnerves Jim a lot - so I already like her.”

“Well I’ve met her. And I like her too.” You don’t even notice how dreamy you sound until Eastwood is giving you the look.

“Seriously?"

“What?” you play innocent, but the man knows you all too well. He just shakes his head in mock disapproval.

“Whatever. You know, you could ask Brink - he has been working closely with her for the last couple of days.”

“Ask Brink the prick?” you make a face - that man was unbearable last time around.

“That’s the one.”

“Nah, I think I can handle it myself.”

“I’m sure you’re more then capable” Matt smirks and you know it’s time to go.

“Come out for drinks with me sometime - we sure had fun last time.” You hug him goodbye and you realise that you’ve really missed him, his sarcasm and the relentless word battles you two have.

“And look like an old perv getting a pretty young thing drunk? Sure, with pleasure.” 

“So sweet of you to say I’m pretty! And you’re not that old. I’ve done older.”

“Oh shut up. You haven't!” He smirks and you smirk back:

“No I haven’t!” you make a face and only then he finally agrees to your offer:

“Fine, we’ll have a drink. And now get out and stop disrupting my work!”

“Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eastwood is my fav character apart from Stella so he is going to be "your" best friend for this story. At least they'd have a lot to talk about since his dynamic with Stella is absolutely amazing. Don't worry, I'll give you a female friend too at some point, but for now you'll have to do with Eastwood. Not that it's a hardship because he is totally awesome as a friend. I promise. A.x.


	4. Best laid dinner plans

**4\. Best laid dinner plans.**

The rest of the day is crazy. You spend all of your time in between locations, talking to people, trying to work out different angles to this story. It would have been much easier if you had gotten some initial information from Stella this morning, but since your meeting has been pushed to the evening you try to have all the material prepared for the conversation.

She calls in twice to postpone the dinner - first she moves it from 7pm to 8pm and then she calls at 7.30- to move it again from 8pm to 9pm. You really don’t mind as you’re busy working on all the data you’ve accumulated throughout the day.

At 8.20 you’re finally free and you half-expect her to call and move the dinner yet again so you decide to head home for a shower and a change of clothes. She never calls so you end up leaving your apartment way too late, but looking hot in tight leather trousers, a fitting top that hugs your figure perfectly and a stylish black jacked with leather detail. You decided to go for a “just out of bed” hairstyle and only a touch of make up - lashes and some highlighter to accentuate your cheekbones.

As you speed drive through the city to get to her hotel as fast as possible you sing along with Ed Sheeran:

_I met this girl late last year_   
_She said, "Don't you worry if I disappear._   
_" I told her I'm not really looking for another mistake_   
_I called an old friend thinking that the trouble would wait_   
_But then I jump right in A week later returned_   
_I reckon she was only looking for a lover to burn_   
_But I gave her my time for two or three nights_   
_Then I put it on pause 'til the moment was right_   
_I went away for months until our paths crossed again_   
_She told me, "I was never looking for a friend._   
_Maybe you could swing by my room around 10:00_   
_Baby, bring a lemon and a bottle of gin_   
_We'll be in between the sheets 'til the late AM”_

At this point of the song you chuckle. Being in between the sheets with Stella  and a bottle of gin would have been your plan if not for the freaking article.  You drive up to the hotel, park you car and hurry inside - you’re already about ten minutes late.

She is waiting for you in the restaurant - you can see her sipping  white wine and writing something down in her diary. With a pen. Seriously who does that anymore? You approach her table as she greets you without even looking up as she finishes her writing:

“You’re late.”

“You moved the dinner two times so I don’t think we should put too much pressure on punctuality.” You sit down with a polite smile and take a look at the menu. “Have you ordered?”

“As a matter of fact - yes.” She takes another sip of vine and shoots you a look, taking in your appearance, studying you as you stop the waiter passing by and order “whatever she’s having and a glass of the same wine.”

“You’re not very picky, are you?” She asks quietly, and you give her another charming smile:

“I am actually. But I trust your taste.” That is a half-truth. Another half-truth is that normally you take a while to choose your food and drinks and as you are already late you would feel bad delaying the conversation even more. So you silently pray she didn’t order anything too peculiar.

“You don’t know my taste.” She smiles back at you and God, she is gorgeous.

“I hope I do.” You hear yourself answering and a comfortable silence falls between you. You see her smile at you once again, not openly, just a hint of a smile on her lips, but that is enough to make the time stand still. You catch yourself thinking that this exact moment will be etched in your memory forever: Her tired face with this small smile, a glass of wine in her hands, the way her golden hair catch the light of the lamp at the side of your table, the way her face is lit up, the way her eyes peer into your own. This moment alone is exquisite.

The waiter brings over the wine and you taste it - it has a very complex bouquet, the taste is soft, but strong at the same time. You feel the hint of summer heat, honey and pears in it and maybe some citrus, but the aftertaste is a bit spicy, leaving you wanting more. You catch yourself thinking the wine represents the woman who chose it perfectly.

“Great choice” you compliment her, putting the glass down and getting your laptop out of the bag.

“Thank you.” She traces all your movements with her eyes as you settle in your chair, that is more of a large armchair then a proper chair. You sit a bit sideways and pull one leg under yourself to be more comfortable with your laptop in your lap.

“So.” You begin the business part of your meeting. “How would you prefer to do this? I can ask you questions or tell you what I know so far and what the plan is for the story?”

“How about I explain the situation to you and then you will ask your questions if you have any?” Stella suggests and you’re all for it - with that voice you could listen to her talk all night.

“Sure. Would you mind if I type some things up along the way?”

“Please go ahead.” She then proceeds to explain the situation to you. And the situation is in short the following:

There was a murder of Alice Monroe. She believes it’s tied to another murder from about a year ago - the murder of a woman named Fiona Gallagher. She explains the parts that match and the parts that don’t much and why she thinks that is. She believes the killer will strike again. Her boss Jim Burns is not on board with that idea. (Of course he’d rather keep it as simple as one murder then end up with a serial killer on his hands - and that is perfect Jim Burns thinking right here. The man never changes.)

Somewhere in between the waiter brings over the food and announces that it’s veal scallopini with asparagus and mushroom sauce. It sure looks and smells delicious.

“Veal is a controversial dish...” you say as you eye her face for the signs of recognition of the quote, but she shows none. She hums instead as she tastes her food and it obviously pleases her. You take this moment to finish up your notes. As you’re about to put your laptop away you hear her utter:

“Your veal is getting cold” and you hold back a grin - of course she watches Hannibal. You share a look of mutual understanding before you speak up:

“I wasn’t sure you’d be into the show - you know, in your line of work…”

“Why not, it’s never as scary as real life.” She is dead serious now and you feel a little out of your depth. You don’t really want to discuss anything too personal with her - you don’t  know her well enough yet and you don’t know how this will turn out in the end. Being too personal might become a problem later on. You think of a way to joke it off, but suddenly Stella changes the subject herself.

“I’ve read up on you. You’re described as cut-though, edgy, bold. I want to know how comfortable you would be going against authority at some point?”

“Very.” You sip you wine and specify: “for the right reasons of course.”

“Of course.” She studies you again before specifying as well: “when I said “at some point” I meant tonight. In this article.”

“So I figured. What do you want me to say and why?”

“The killer is going to strike again. And he will probably start by breaking and entering into the victim’s house. He might move her things around, might steal her underwear, steal her photos or do some other things that will be more or less suspicious. Then he will come back for the kill. I want you to print that information so that the women are more vigilant - It’s better to get alarmed over nothing then die because you thought it was nothing. I want you to say that there is a version that it might be a serial killer. You have to say it’s only one of the versions - as it’s not yet official, but your job is to make them believe it’s true. I want women scared and aware. And locking up their houses at night.”

As she speaks, you already have the article forming in your head, all the facts coming together. You immediately think that Stella’s background in catching a cannibal serial killer in London will come very handy. And pissing off Jim Burns along the way, making your friend Eastwood happy, is just the cherry on top.

“I’ll do it. It will come out tomorrow - I’ll get the editor to make it front page news. That should do the deed.” You think for a moment before you ask her: “But what if we alarm the killer as well? And he changes up his act?”

“He gets off on his act. He might become more careful, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take - at least we could save someone who has noticed something like that. He could have already picked out his next victim for all we know.”

“You’re right. And locking up all the doors at night hasn't hurt anybody” You try to lighten the mood. “Ok, now that the business talk is over - would you care for desert?” You know you’re taking your chances now, but she is too gorgeous not to try.

“If by dessert you mean whiskey then the answer is yes.” She looks into your eyes and you realise your challenge has been accepted.

“The bar downstairs?” You ask suggestively, but her answer is disarmingly blunt:

“How about… my room?” her eyes never leave yours and you suddenly feel nervous. You’ve done this a lot of times before, but for some reason this time it’s different. You catch yourself wondering if this time is different for her, but cut this thought short as soon as it starts to form - this is exactly the emotional shit you’ve been trying to avoid lately. You return her gaze with matching intensity.

“Skipping some important steps, are we?” You tease, wanting to stretch this sensual moment for as long as possible. The anticipation is delicious, so you drag it out.

“Why, you want some flowers?” She retorts, eyebrow raised at you. God, that looks sexy on her. Everything looks sexy on her, you might have just about found your kryptonite.

“Please. I was talking about getting drunk and lowering our inhibitions.” You smirk at her, knowing she obviously won this round - turning the whole situation around like she was in charge. You’re not used to women doing that and it’s quite refreshing.

She savours her small victory and teases:  “I don’t see you as someone who has many inhibitions.”

“I’m easy to read. You’re not.”

“Well, now that we’re on the same page…”

“Shall we?” you finish for her. As you both get up to leave she suddenly chuckles:

“Skipping some important steps, are we?” 

“I’m sorry?” You're busy getting your things together so it doesn't really register until she brushes past you to lead the way to the elevator, half-whispering the explanation right into your ear: “We probably need to allow this some more time before we start finishing each other’s sentences don’t you think?"  She gives you another small smirk and walks away, expecting you will follow.

“Whatever the fuck this is” you mutter to yourself quietly so that she doesn't hear as you head after her, a smug grin playing on your face.


	5. Where the magic happens

You stand behind her as she’s waiting for the elevator to arrive. You eyes trace the straight line of her back, linger on the curve of her hips, come back up to follow her hand as she brushes her hair away from her face. Right now you’re in a position of power - standing right behind her, observing her. You know she wants to turn around and look at you. but you also know that she won’t as it would be losing the game.

The elevator doors slide open and she comes in, you follow. She turns around to push he button and is now facing you, standing so close that you can see every light freckle on her radiant face. The polite thing to do would be to take a step back as you’re in each other’s space, but neither of you does that. The obvious thing to do would be to reach out and touch, but neither of you does that either. You both just stand there, too close for comfort, studying each other. Your eyes travel over her full lips, her high cheekbones, her perfect hair, before finally stopping to peer into her blue orbs. She stares back at you and you get a feeling she likes what she sees. You sure do like what you see. The elevator ride only takes a couple of minutes, but to you it feels like forever. Finally, you the elevator stops moving and you turn away from her towards the already opening doors, walking out into the corridor.

“Turn left” her soft voice guides you - “Room 203”.

You walk to her room together, this time she is slightly behind you, no doubt taking in your every move, and you desperately want to turn around and face her, but it’s not the right time yet, so you restrain yourself. Anticipation is key and you feel excitement burning in your veins -  this is a well-known game to you, but every game is only as good as the players. Stella is obviously very good.

As your reach room 203 you stop so that she has to lean over you to open the door, your bodies touching slightly. You shiver at the contact - it is neither sensual nor deliberate, but it sends an electric jolt through you. You are so going to enjoy what comes next. You push the door open and enter, casually dropping your heavy bag on the floor. It lands with a thud, you hear the door being shut and you know it’s time. So you turn around to face her.

Your plan right now would normally be to say something witty or daring, but as soon as you see her standing there in the dark of the corridor, her features only illuminated by the light that comes in from the window, a small content smile on her face, anticipation in her eyes, talking is the last thing on your mind. Kissing on the other hand… You can see her watching you with interest as if trying to predict your next move or maybe planning a move of her own. You take a step towards her with confidence that you’re not entirely sure you actually have, the intensity of all this is a bit unnerving, but there’s no turning back now. Stella is silent, still staring at you as you take another predatory step, you hands finding their way onto her hips, gripping them confidently, pushing her back until she’s pressed against the door. You come even closer, your bodies so close you can feel the heat radiating of her and her incredible smell envelops you, overloading your senses. You can feel her breathing fasten and smile triumphantly, happy to have this effect on her. Your face is now right in front of hers, your noses almost touching. Suddenly she makes a slight move forward, her body pressing fully against yours now. This is pure bliss.

“Can I just…” she raises her hand and your heart beats so loud you are sure she can hear it. Now. It’s all going to start now…

Suddenly the lights in the room come on. Surprised, you look at her, then it registers in your mind that she just put the key card into the device by the door. Now it’s her turn to smile triumphantly as she brushes past you and walks into the room. You allow yourself to chuckle out loud, letting her have this round. The game is only just beginning after all. Stella carefully sets her own bag on the chair and reaches for a vintage  bottle of whiskey on the table.

“I wasn’t sure that’s what you meant” - you tease her, but she suddenly looks up and fixes you with a strangely cold stare.

“I’m sorry?”

You lift your eyebrows and eye a bottle in her hand - “when you offered to have whiskey in your room I wasn’t sure you meant just that.”

“Oh.” she is now visibly relaxed, the predatory smile back on her face as she pours you a glass. You take it from her and your fingers touch as she says in a low voice: “Of course I didn’t mean just that”.

Admitting intent. Round two is on you. Now you could just stay silent and enjoy this moment of having the upper hand, but you decide against it for some reason.

“I hoped so.” You even the playing field. She goes on to pour herself a glass and as you watch her you realise that this night is going to be very different from what you had imagined before.

You were counting on having just another fun one-night-stand, but this is something of entirely another level. Still a one night stand for sure, but the woman in front of you is too far from being “just another” on your list. Not only is she gorgeous, but she is also brilliant, smart, driven, all of which make her even sexier to you. Looking at her you feel a mix of lust and admiration - and that’s not something you often feel for people. Frankly, its pretty fucking rare for you. This is quite unique. She is quite unique. This night will be quite unique, but only if you both let it. If you both agree to let it unravel into what it’s supposed to be, if you both don’t pretend this is just another night. To you it certainly isn’t and you hope it isn’t for her either.

You take a sip of whiskey and it rolls down your throat like a ball of fire. You watch her do the same, admiring every move she makes.

“So you had this planned?” She teases as she lowers the light in the room to a warm glow. It’s the sex light and you both know that. You take another sip of whiskey, this time it goes down smoothly and you feel warmed up from inside as you reply:

“I’d like to say I did. But I’m afraid the credit is yours.” After all it was her who invited you to the hotel, then up to her room. And now she’s standing right next to you, taking the drink from your hand and moving closer, whispering in your ear:

“We could share that credit.” With that, she leaves a kiss right below your ear, her lips travelling down your neck, kissing and sucking gently. You feel like fireworks explode in your belly as you pull her up for a kiss.

As soon as your lips touch you’re gone, lost, devoured. You let go of all the planning and the moves and you just go with the flow, spellbound by how amazing this feels. For a while it’s just kissing, coming in waves, passionate then tender, careful, growing languid and then desperate, hurried and then slowing down again, sensual, wet, all of it. You feel delirious and as you look into her eyes you see she is lost as well. Her eyes are dark with desire as you make a first move to unbutton her shirt.

Her hand catches yours before you can do anything and you can feel her stiffen in your arms.

“Don’t” you whisper, your lips swollen from all the kissing and it comes out too desperate but you don’t care right now.

“Don’t what?” she whispers back, her hand still wrapped around yours in between your bodies.

This time it’s you who goes for her ear, your free hand stroking her lower back sensually. “Don’t try to control… this.” you almost beg her, biting her earlobe teasingly and her sharp intake of breath lets you know you’ve achieved the desired effect. You take her face in your hands and look deeply into her eyes. “Let it go.” you say firmly and you feel her loosen her grip on your hand, now stroking your wrist slightly. Her mouth is slightly parted and all you want to do is to kiss her again, but instead you watch her eyes darken with lust as you open the top button of her blouse. Then the second. The third. She doesn’t move, her eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you shiver. You carefully run your finders along the opening of her blouse, caressing her warm skin and she moans softly, throwing her head back in pleasure. That moment is too beautiful for you to handle, so you let go as well, any resemblance of control gone for good.

 

* * *

 

When you come out of the shower you find that she is already asleep, looking even more beautiful the before, her hair all tousled u and an innocent expression oh her face. You get dressed quietly, careful not to disturb her and contemplate leaving a note, finally deciding against it: there isn’t really any need for words after last night.

You throw one last look at her sleeping frame before shutting the door quietly behind you. As you get into your car and turn the engine on you glance at the clock: it shows 04:30 am.

“Jarvis, we’re so screwed.” You sign and chuckle to yourself at the irony - you have to turn in the article in two hours tops and you haven’t written a word yet. Because you were busy flirting with Superintendent Gibson and then busy getting screwed by Superintendent Gibson. Several times. You close your eyes for a second, remembering how good it all felt until you decided to check the time…

_“Shit, It’s 4 am!”_

_“So?”_

_“The article is due at 6. Fuck.” You fall back onto the pillows with a groan, now wanting to let go of her. Then she is on top of you, punctuating each word with a light kiss:_

_“Get. Out. Of. Here. Then.” You both laugh as you pull her head down for a real kiss goodnight._

_“Mind if I use your shower?”_

You speed drive through the city for the second time today, this time in the direction of the office. As you drive you start talking to yourself, trying to word the article, to come up with an outline. In 15 minutes you sit down at your desk to type it up and you barely manage to finish in time. You submit it to the correctors and then you feel the exhaustion wash over you. As you drive home you sing along to one of your favourite new songs:

_Can I take you home?_   
_Can I take you home?_   
_We can go anywhere you wanna go_   
_Can I take you high_   
_To the mountain sky?_   
_We can go as far as you wanna go_   
_Pa pa pa pa pa pa_   
_Pa pa pa pa pa pa_

And you are happy.

 


	6. A rough come down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. I am quite taken with this story - didn't really expect it as it started out more like an inside joke, but I love writing it so much! 
> 
> Also, I pretty much have a plan of how this "you" character will alter the course of events (and you totally will!), but if you have some things/ situations you really want to happen with "you" and Stella or with "you" in general - please feel free to let me know in the comments I will try to incorporate it in the story if I can =)

You open your eyes groggily, trying to focus. The phone beside your pillow buzzes again and you realise it must have woken you up.

Still lost in sleep you try to open your eyes just enough to see the caller ID that says: “Gibson”. You sit up on your bed and clear your voice, picking up the phone.

“Hello?” Trying not to sound sleepy is harder then you thought it would be.

“There’s been a development.” even in your hazy state you can hear the stress in her voice. “Another body has been found.”

“Oh.” you try to suppress a yawn as the information sinks in

“I am leaving the crime scene now. Meet me at the station - I’ll prepare the official statement to be published asap.”

“Ok.” you try to figure out how fast you can get there if you’re still in bed when you hear her ask in an amused tone:

“I’m sorry, have you been sleeping?”

“Well I didn’t exactly have time for it last night between you and having to submit an article on time” you retort, getting out of bed. “I’d need about forty minutes to get there.”

“That’s fine.” She hangs up and you fall back onto the pillow with a groan. Time to get up. Now. The task seems impossible until you throw the blanket off completely, letting the cold air get to you. Half a minute later you’re freezing and getting dressed becomes a priority over going back to sleep. You get up reluctantly and search your room for your pants and t-shirt - last night or better say morning you were so exhausted you just undressed and got under the covers. Finally you find your homewear on an armchair buried under your rumpled clothes from yesterday. Making a mental note to tidy up the mess that is your whole house you stroll to the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

You are only more or less awake when you get into the car. The Jaguar greets you with an animalistic road if the engine and you smile at the sound as always, turning on the music and preparing for a nice ride. You start singing along with Calvin Harris:

_I feel so close to you right now_

_It's a force field_

_I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal_

_Your love pours down on me, surrounds me like a waterfall_

_And there's no stopping us right now_

_I feel so close to you right now_

However, an incoming phone call interrupts the song before you can really get into it - It’s your editor in chief calling and you have no choice but to pick up.

“Hello Edward”

“I guess a good morning is in order? That was one tight deadline.”

It’s hard to figure out if he’s pleased with you or angry at you so you try to be neutral as well:

“It was, but I believe the story has potential.”

“Potential? Are you kidding me?”

Oh shit. This must be bad. Before you regroup yourself into protective mode he continues:

“It’s fucking phenomenal! The serial killer in Belfast! We don't even know if it’s true but it’s all the city talks about! Our website’s visitations are through the roof!  All because that article of yours is so deliciously scary. Well done and I’m serious.“

He sounds ecstatic and you cant help but beam with pride. “Thank you Edward! Means a lot.”

“Do you think we could do something for the website? Some live updates? How are you dealing with the PSNI - are they being helpful at all?”

“Oh, they are… cooperating.” You smirk to yourself, remembering last night. There was definitely some cooperation going on.

“Give me some ideas for the website tonight. Any news on what’s going on by the park? I hear the police closed the road and there’s been another murder?”

You cease smiling immediately as you remember exactly what got you out of bed.

“Yes, I’m just on my way to get the official statement.”

“Good job. Also please don’t worry about the cop kill - Ned’s got it covered.”

You feel cold all of a sudden.

“What cop kill?” your voice sounds foreign to you right now.

“They haven’t confirmed it yet, but Ned said it was James Olsen. Shot on the street last night.”

You feel a sharp pang in your chest. James Olsen. You fucking know the guy. Knew the guy.

“Shit, Edward, I know him.” You park the car by the police station on autopilot and just stare into nothingness.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses. You can’t really bring yourself to say anything, so after a long moment he continues. “Do get back to me about the website ok? Once you have taken the time… you know…”

“I know.”

You hang up and try to process the information. James Olsen. Dead. For real. You weren’t too close, but you’ve worked with him a bit and you hung out with him and his partner a couple of times after hours. It’s just unbelievable to you that he is gone. You stare at the entrance to the police station as you realise you’re already late for your meeting with Stella. Bracing yourself up you leave the car and go in.

At the station it’s completely hectic. A dead colleague and a recent murder on their hands it seems like people can’t decide if they are in full work mode or in full grief mode and it makes for a really strange energy around the place. You feel a strong desire to see Eastwood and probably hug him and probably cry, but first things first - Stella must be waiting for you.

As you think of Stella the first image that comes to mind is an image from last night - her sitting on the dim light with a wine glass in her hands just looking at you with that intensity in her eyes. Next  an image of her naked hip hooked over yours comes to mind and you try to shake the memories from your mind. Not now.

She’s not in her office and the secretary guides you to the briefing room. You’re not allowed to go in so you just watch her from the outside, marvelling in the way she looks - determined, professional, beautiful as always. Soon people start leaving the room, there’s only one narrow door out so it takes some time and gives you an opportunity to greet most of the officers you know. Dani is one of the last people to come out and you can see quite clearly that she wants to avoid talking to you -  as soon as she notices you she turns away abruptly, starting a conversation with a colleague. You stare at her in amusement when suddenly a very familiar voice asks you very quietly, very mater-of-factly and very icily:

“Enjoying the view?” You jump a bit and turn your head to stare at Stella’s cold blue orbs. She drops her gaze to the folder in her hands and before you can come up with an answer she asks you to follow her back into the briefing room. “Dani, join us please.” she commands and the red-haired officer comes in as well. You wonder why that is for a moment.

Stella gives you the official statement on the murder in a cold, detached manner. Looking at her now, it’s hard to believe that only a few hours ago this very woman was whispering obscenities in your ear while you did your best to make every one of them come to life. You wonder if maybe you imagined it all. But then there’s this moment when Dani buries her gaze in the files and Stella allows herself to look at you, really look at you and you know it actually happened. And you also know it will happen again if she wants it to. Too soon the moment is gone. You still wonder what Dani is doing here. Did she just need someone else in the room? That would be really strange, she seems composed enough to handle you, it’s not like you're both fifteen. Questions running through your mind are soon answered.

“That would be all as far as the official statement goes.” Stella says and looks at Dani pointedly. “Now Dani, I need you to recite what you told me earlier in as much detail as you can.”

You wonder what this is about when you see all colour drain from Dani’s face.

“But M’am, I thought we were keeping it out of the press?”  Dani looks positively shaken, her voice giving her away as well as her body language.

“We are.” Stella’s voice is borderline between disapproval and reassurance. You don’t know how she can manage that tone but she does. “But I need you to recite your story now, so that in case it leaks we can have it covered immediately. Someone could have seen you - the neighbours for example. We can’t be sure it won’t come up, so we have to insure ourselves just in case.”

“Yes M’am, sorry M’am.” Dani’s head is down her short hair falling on her face, covering her cheeks that are burning up. _“Redheads blush easily”_   you think and suddenly you remember the night when you were introduced to the blush of this particular redhead. It was a fun night. Quite memorable. You feel the corners of your mouth curl upward at the memory as Stella’s voice snaps you out of it.

“I‘ll leave you two to it.” you turn to meet her gaze, but she isn’t looking at you anymore. She is in fact collecting her materials and leaving the room without sparing you another glance.

“Both instances, M’am?” Dani asks just before she’s out of the door. You can’t see Stella now, but you hear a hint of annoyance in her voice as she says

“Yes, Farrington. The full story. I trust her.” She shuts the door and you revel in her last words. She trusts you. Nice. Immediately a memory from last night fills your mind in a beautiful vision.

* * *

 

_Stella is sitting on her bed, her skirt is on the floor along with her high heels and her blouse is still on, but completely open, revealing her lacy underwear. You stand in front of her, half-naked with only your jeans still on._

_“Do you trust me?” you ask as you lean into her and brush your fingers through her hair, forcing her head to fall back slightly._

_“Yes.” you barely hear her answer, but it’s there, formed by her perfect lips. You kiss her then._

_“Close your eyes.”_

* * *

 

“Er. I guess I should start then?” Dani finally looks up at you and you scold yourself for letting your mind wander to last night again.

“Yes, please do. I’ll just switch on the recorder.” You can see how fidgety she is and try to make this easier on both of you. “Dani…”

She ignores you and just starts talking.

“The night before the murder me and my partner were patrolling the area. We received a call - Sarah Key called the police claiming someone had been to her house while she was out. We checked on her house - everything looked fine, no signs of a break in. Her underwear was laid out on the bed, her vibrator hidden under it. She was quite tipsy and smelled of alcohol. It was Friday night so naturally she had been out - having drinks with friends. It was a very uncomfortable situation - as soon as we asked her about the drinking she asked us to leave. Also, looking back I don't think we were too sensitive or handled the situation particularly well. In the end she said she didn’t want to pursue it further. As there was no evidence of breaking and entering we couldn’t do anything either. We advised her to change the locks and stay with a friend or relative before that happens. We assumed it could have been an ex or someone familiar pulling a prank on her. That's what those situations typically are.”

Danni sound bitter and you really feel for her - it’s quite obvious she’s shaken up by this. You don’t really know what to say or how to comfort her, so you just avoid looking at her, staring at your recorder instead, fixating your gaze on the time indicator, showing the seconds running by quickly as she tells you the story.

“The next day Superintendent Gibson made the connection between several recent murders, coming to a conclusion that there was a serial killer in the city. She told us to look out for strange break ins or fetish thefts. That made me think immediately of Sarah Key. However, I didn’t say anything to Superintendent Gibson about that case. I don’t really know why, I guess I just thought it was nothing really. Nevertheless that thought didn’t leave my mind and in the evening I asked my partner to check on Sarah again. We drove by her house. The lights were out. I knocked on her door. No one answered - we thought she must have taken our advice and stayed with a friend. Just in case I called her phone - no one answered. I left her a message and we left. Today it turned out she was killed last night. She could have been still alive when I called her…”

She stops talking abruptly, swallowing with effort. You turn off the recorder and the silence falls over the room. You think of something to say and you have nothing. So you decide to just focus on the professional side of things.

“Dani, Superintendent Gibson is right. You’ve been to the victim’s place two times. Someone could have seen you. With all the fuss that is going to rise around this case it’s bound to come up at some point I’m afraid.” She nods her head absent-mindedly and you know just how much she’s blaming herself, too bad you’re not enough of a friend to comfort her. “But when it does. Dani, when it does, I will do all I can to make sure that information is presented in the right way. In a way that says you did right, you gave her the correct advice and you did all you could at the time to ensure her safety. Because that’s what you did.”

“We mocked her.” Dani lets the words out barely above the whisper. “We didn’t take her seriously.”

“You didn't know there was a serial killer in town. Come on, I bet this is not the first time you came across something like this - as you said it’s usually nothing.”

“This time it wasn’t.”

There’s not much to say to that. This is really a horrible day. Suddenly she looks up at you and says:

“James Olsen’s dead. You must know already, that other journalist, Ned, was at the crime scene.”

So it’s real. You shudder on the inside once again.

“I didn’t know for sure. It wasn’t confirmed.”

“It’s all confirmed now..." another long pause. "Do you care for a cigarette? I could really use one right now.” she looks at you with a blank stare and you nod your head. She leads you out of the room and onto the roof.

“It’s a nice place, no one ever comes up here.” she says and hands you a cigarette. You don’t really smoke, but it’s been such a shitty day that you take it from her trembling fingers and let her hold the light for you. As you look at her fresh face, the light from the flame dancing on her skin and reflected in her eyes you remember a night from several months ago.

* * *

_“Oh come on! Don’t go yet!” James Olsen wraps an arm around your shoulders “The party’s just starting!”_

_Several police officers cheer and you feel rather uncomfortable - you’re really tired in not in a party mood and just wanna go home and sleep, but you don’t want to be a wet blanket, so you muster up a big smile and laugh, coming up with a convenient lie: “Sorry guys, I have a hot date waiting for me tonight. Next time you catch some thugs I’m all yours!”_

_James gives you another squeeze and lets you go: “Drive carefully and have a nice time. And then tell us all about it!”_

_You can’t help but laugh sincerely - the guy really is charming. “I will!” you wave goodbye to the group and head out._

_You stop for a second to breath in the fresh air of the night - it’s a relief after spending so much time in a crowded bar._

_“Excuse me, do you have a lighter by any chance?”_

_It registers that someone’s talking to you. You turn around to find a young officer trying to light a cigarette. She shoots you a disarming smile. “Mine isn’t working.”_

_You can’t help but return that smile. “Here let me try.” After several attempts you manage to light her cigarette. She inhales the smoke and looks you in the eye as she lets it out. Her face is very fresh, young and she looks quite dirty with a cigarette. Like a schoolgirl smoking in secret. It’s hot._

_“You want one?” she offers in a low voice and you feel the chemistry fill the air between you two._

_“No thanks, I don’t smoke.” you say still studying her openly. She is fit, wearing baggy jeans and a simple tank top, which suit her very well. She is both feminine and a bit boyish in her looks and manners. Tonight you find it quite a turn on and you don’t hide your interest, on the contrary, you make sure she notices it as you move your gaze purposely all over her form._

_“I only smoke when I’m drunk really.” she puffs out another veil of smoke. “Or when something terrible happens.” The cigarette’s finished now, being crushed onto the top of the ash can by her delicate fingers._

_“Need a ride home?” you ask her bluntly and she just smiles at you. You know her plan is to go back in and join her colleagues, but plans can change. After all your plan was to go home and go to bed, and now the plan is to go to her home and go to her bed. She takes a moment to contemplate the idea and then smiles at you:_

_“Sure.”_

_Before you drive off you kiss her in the car. She tastes of cigarettes and you find yourself enjoying it. It’s quite a manly taste, but as you open your eyes you see her pretty schoolgirl  face and you’re exited by the whole thing. “This will be very interesting” you think to yourself. And it is in the end._

* * *

“I still can’t believe James is gone” you say, sucking in the bitterness of the cigarette smoke. It isn't even close to matching the bitterness you feel inside, but it takes the edge off.

“Yeah… He was shot in front of his son you know.” Dani says quietly and makes it even worse if that was at all possible.

“Fuck. Dani, this is terrible.”

“I know.” The silence falls between you two as you smoke. She hands you a second cigarette when you finish yours and you take it. This has truly been a horrible day.

Suddenly she lets out chuckle and you shoot her a questioning look.

“I imagine how horrible Superintendent Gibson feels right now.” She chuckles bitterly again and you’re baffled.

“Why is that?”

“She comes to the city for a simple review and discovers a serial killer. Then there’s a murder on her hands…”

“Ah”

“… Then the guy she just fucked is killed the next night. That’s a warm welcome to Belfast.”

For a moment you don't believe your ears as you look at Dani, but she’s dead serious.

“I’m not supposed to say anything, but hell with it, you’re going to find out anyway. The whole department has been up her ass all day about it. Eastwood had to actually interrogate her on the matter.”

You stare at the city lights. Whatever.

“Were they involved?” you ask against your better judgement.

“You kidding? She just got here. We were driving in a car and she saw him at a crime scene. Asked me to introduce them and then invited him to her room right in front of me.”

“God…” you say against your better judgement. You silently beg your better judgement to kick in like NOW, because you keep just blurting the wrong things out. Apparently Dani takes it as a sign that you are surprised, not as a “God, she fucked him the night before she fucked me in the same bed.” that it really was.

“Yeah, shocked me too. Apparently she didn't want to pursue it further as he called her like 10 times yesterday and she ignored it all”

 _“Right, and then she fucked me in the evening. In the same fucking bed.” -_ is the only thought running through your mind right now. Somehow the bed thing is deeply insulting.

“Well it was a one night stand, it’s not like she promised to marry him” you find yourself protecting her against your better judgement. (it still hasn’t kicked in apparently)

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” she says harshly and just like that you find yourself in the middle of a conversation that you never want to have with someone you had a one night stand with.

“Dani…” You look down, not really knowing how to proceed. The whole fucking point of a one night stand is you never have to discuss it. And yet, here you are. You throw the useless remains of your cigarette away and look up at her, ready to say… something, when her lips crash into yours.

She tastes like cigarettes again, but this time you do too.

 

 


End file.
